


Won't Go Home Without You

by noblydonedonnanoble



Series: The Road We Never Drove On [3]
Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 04:26:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblydonedonnanoble/pseuds/noblydonedonnanoble





	Won't Go Home Without You

                For the past week or so, David and I have been dancing around each other and hoping that nobody else on the cast will notice. So far, we’ve been fairly successful. The set’s buzzing with discussion about everyone coming back for the series finale, and that is probably a great part of our success. We’ve still been interacting a fair amount just for the sake of keeping up appearances… Honestly, though, I feel almost scared to look at him, let alone talk to him and joke with him as I once did.

                He doesn’t look at me much, either, if he can help it. When I do happen to catch him looking my way—or when he happens to catch me looking at him, because at this point I’ve got no idea which of us is really doing the catching—it’s uncomfortable and leads to mumbled words of apology. Because now, it seems, it’s a crime to simply look at one another.

                Today, though, is been different. David strolls in looking content, determined. When he sees me, the grin on his face is entirely genuine. And just the sight of that makes me smile a real smile back, because his happiness is contagious on at least the surface level. Deep down, though, I’m in complete turmoil. I want to know what happened. I want to know what changed.

                During a break, I pull him aside. “What’s going on, David? Why are you…” Happy? “So energetic today?”

                He looks at me strangely. “Catherine, I’m always energetic. You’ve told me before that that’s one of your favorite things about me, so why is it shocking you now?”

                Why did I ever actually open my mouth and say that? Why did I ever actually open my mouth and say ninety percent of the things I said to him? “It’s just different from how you’ve been since…”

                “We should eat dinner tonight.”

                The abruptness of the statement—because it’s a statement, not a question—startles me. “You’re not asking me on a date.” Although perhaps I allow it to come out sounding somewhat like a question, I make sure to know that this is not only a _statement_ , but a _declaration_. Not happening. No. Never.

                “’Course not, why would I ask you on a date when you’re perfectly happy with a man?” I can’t read his expression. “Just a friendly dinner, you and me. We’ve eaten dinner together in the past, so why should it be a problem?”

                I am free tonight, and it’s some combination of that, my stubbornness, and my curiosity that drives me to agree. “Yes, okay. As soon as we wrap for the day?”

                Once I agree, I feel lighter. The prospect of dinner with David, dinner like we used to have, is exciting. At the same time, I feel awful for being so eager.

                I could change my mind. Run away and go home to Twig and Erin as soon as the final “Cut!” is called.

                Except as soon as we’re done, he links our arms together and starts walking, chattering at me. Always chattering. What’s worse is that I always listen. He sweeps me away with his words, and while he tells me about things that have happened to him in the last week—things that are simple and light conversation topics, but are still beyond the “What do you think of the weather?” degree of speaking we’ve been at lately.

                I want to know why he’s suddenly smiling, why he’s voluntarily putting himself in my company. I know, though, that the reason he asked me to dinner was so he could tell me, so I don’t bother to question him.

                He picks a restaurant we’ve been to a couple of times before, and when we sit down tells me that this meal is on him and to order whatever I want.

                I can’t help being suspicious.

                “How have you been, Catherine?”

                “Fine. Good. Wonderful.” Always fine. Always good. Always wonderful.

                The extent to which David doesn’t believe me is clear. I wouldn’t believe me either. “Why are you lying to me?” He pauses, and I know it’s not a rhetorical question but I act like I’m too busy studying the entrees to respond. “Fine. If you’re not going to start this discussion then I’ll go ahead. But I want to order first, don’t want the poor waitress to walk into an awkward conversation.”

                And then his tone shifts. All of a sudden he’s talking food, saying that he doesn’t know whether he wants to get something new or go with his favorite dish. And if he gets something different, what should it be? It’s always astonished me, how easily David rambles. And I also find myself astonished by how easily he’s making me feel comfortable. My caution dissipates, and by the time the waitress has reached us I’m smiling sincerely.

                Except then she walks away and it’s just me and him. He settles his chin in his hand and takes a few moments to regard me carefully. “This past week has been painful. I’ve had you in front of me for hours every day, yet I miss you. Does that even make sense?”

                 “Yes. I understand.” I don’t know where my emotional wall went; it probably ran away when I started willingly speaking with him. “Though that’s mostly my fault.”

                “How do you figure?” David looks genuinely puzzled.

                “Well, I mean… When I got into that fight with Twig, I made the choice to come over to your place. And you were just being a good friend, so you let me in.”

                “You were crying, why the hell wouldn’t I let you in? I was worried about you. That’s not your fault.”

                “I shouldn’t have come in the first place, though! I should have, I don’t know, gone out and gotten pissed or something.”

                He raises his eyebrows at me. “You don’t drink, Catherine.”

                “So getting drunk wouldn’t have taken much, would it?” David is smirking a little bit, but I ignore him. “And you were being a good friend. But I… I took advantage of that. And I was angry and upset and I kissed you. And then…”

                “And then.”

                We both let that sit in the air for a while. The pause says more than we could possibly say with any words.

                “So that’s why it’s my fault.” I say, finally.

                David frowns. “I’m afraid I’m still not following.”

                “I’m the one who fucked everything up because I kissed you. I started it. And I should have stopped.”

                “You say that like you somehow took advantage of me.” For some reason, he sounds hurt.

                “Didn’t I? I was angry with Twig, I came over to your house and took advantage of your kindness, I… did other things that I don’t care to repeat. Because I was angry with one man, I ran to another. Is that not taking advantage?”

                He looks positively bewildered now. “If anything, I was the one taking advantage of you; you were in quite a state. Do you really think I would have let that happen if—“ His eyes grow wide, and I watch as an internal debate occurs. What’s acceptable to reveal, and what’s not. Finally, it seems that he makes a choice. He clears his throat somewhat awkwardly. “I’ve always wanted that, Catherine. I never did anything untoward because you’ve got Twig, and Erin to look after. But… You’re sitting on my couch and all of a sudden you kiss me? I’m going to take _full_ advantage.”

                “Oh.” I stare at him. I don’t know what my face looks like, but I certainly feel confused. I feel hurt that he’s looking at me like he should take everything back that he just said. At the same time, I’m worried that he succeeded in fucking things up even more. Maybe even beyond repair. Because how am I supposed to respond to such a bold statement? How am I supposed to go on after what he said? I feel something in my brain shut off, somewhere. “Do you know what scenes we’re shooting tomorrow?”

                “What?”

                “Tomorrow. What scenes are we shooting?”

                David almost resists. Almost. But he answers my question.

                Through the rest of dinner, I manage to keep the conversation on things that don’t matter. The only time we near… something, is when the check comes. When he pulls out his card, I protest. I try to pull out a few bills to contribute. He gives me a look, and I realize that I don’t want to test him right now.

                We stand up to leave, and we get all the way to the door before it happens. He holds it open for me, and as I step outside he says, “So Catherine. Tell me something.”

                “What?”

                He leans against the wall and crosses his arms. “Tell me that your only motivation for sleeping with me was that you were angry.”

                “It was.”

                “Tell me you never looked at me and wondered.”

                I feel myself hesitating, but I still murmur, “I didn’t.”

                “Tell me you’ve been able to stop thinking about me since that night.”

                “Sure I have.” I’m lying through my teeth.

                “Tell me…” David steps forward. He takes my hands in his own. “Tell me you’ve slept with Twig since that night. Tell me you’ve allowed him to have his hands on you more recently than mine.”

                I can’t honestly say that. And I can’t bring myself to lie. So I tug him closer and kiss him. He sucks in a breath, clearly startled by a reaction that he was not expecting. When he does respond, it’s with great enthusiasm, and I can’t help but smile against his lips.

                I pull away, but my mouth is still a mere centimeter from his. “Tell me… Tell me you have an empty flat.”


End file.
